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DEVOTED  TO  THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  SOUTH 
IN  THE  CIVIL  WAR 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


1 0002476447 


This  book  is  due  at  the  WALTER  R.  DAVIS  LIBRARY  on 
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may  be  renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 


DATE                          RET 
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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/reminiscencesofcOOmitc 


REMINISCENCES 

OF   THE 

CIVIL    WAR 

BY 
CORA  MITCHEL 


Providence 
Snow  &  Farnham  Co.,  Printers 


:•'# 


REMINISCENCES  OF  THE   CIVIL  WAR 


My  father,  Thomas  Leeds  Mitchel,  of 
Groton,  Connecticut,  was  a  cotton  merchant 
in  Apalachicola,  Florida,  a  small  but  import- 
ant city  at  the  mouth  of  the  Chattahoochie 
River.  As  there  were  few  railroads,  all  the 
cotton  raised  in  the  interior  was  shipped 
down  the  river  to  be  compressed  and  taken 
down  the  bay,  where  steamers  and  sailing 
vessels  were  waiting  to  carry  it  to  England 
or  the  Northern  States. 

Father  was  one  of  the  earliest  settlers,  and 
held  important  positions  of  trust  in  city  and 
church.  His  wife,  Sophia  Brownell,  of  Prov- 
idence, Rhode  Island,  a  woman  of  strong 
character,  was  well  fitted  to  stand  by  his  side 


and  help  him  establish  a  home  in  an  almost 
new  country. 

The  society  of  Apalachicola  was  unusually 
good.  A  number  of  Northern  families  who 
had  been  drawn  there  as  my  father  had,  and 
families  from  Virginia  and  other  Southern 
States,  brought  together  elements  of  culture 
and  refinement  unusual  in  so  small  and  prim- 
itive a  town. 

Father,  being  a  Northerner  by  birth  and 
training,  was  essentially  Northern  in  his  sen- 
timents. He  did  not  believe  in  slavery. 
While  he  employed  many  negroes,  he  owned 
only  three,  and  they  had  come  to  him  im- 
ploring him  to  buy  them,  as  otherwise  they 
would  be  sold  in  the  open  market.  They 
were  faithful,  valuable  servants,  and  became 
real  members  of  our  family.  One  of  them, 
"  Uncle  Young,"  as  we  always  called  him, 
was  sent  as  a  representative  to  the  State 
Legislature   after   the   war.     But  he  never 


forgot  the  old  times,  and  not  long  before 
father  died,  he  received  a  letter  from  him 
which  began,  "  Dear  Mast'  Tom." 

I  well  remember  the  excitement  when  war 
seemed  imminent.  Though  only  a  very 
young  girl,  I  was  allowed  to  go  to  a  mass 
meeting.  I  felt  the  thrill  of  it  all,  and  though 
too  young  to  enter  into  the  merits  of  the 
question,  was  carried  along  by  the  general 
excitement  and  influence. 

Father  was  a  good  deal  of  a  philosopher, 
and,  always  looking  on  the  bright  side,  was 
convinced  that  the  war  could  not  be  long, 
and  peace  would  soon  be  restored.  As  he 
had  large  properties  in  the  South  as  well  as 
his  business,  he  decided  not  to  go  North,  for 
he  well  knew  everything  would  be  confisca- 
ted if  he  did. 

Our  little  city  felt  the  shock  of  the  first 
gun,  fired  on  Fort  Sumter,  and  almost  im- 
mediately warlike  preparations  were  started. 


Being  on  the  coast,  the  town  was  supposed 
to  be  in  danger.  Companies  were  formed 
and  drilled.  Batteries  of  sandbags,  armed 
with  cannon,  lined  that  part  of  the  town  ex- 
posed to  invasion  from  the  bay,  and  there 
was  much  coming  and  going.  Ladies  met 
to  embroider  banners,  and  the  ceremonies  of 
presentation  seemed  to  me  most  glorious  and 
exciting  events.  Companies  of  young  sol- 
diers came  down  from  the  interior,  and  to 
my  childish  mind  it  seemed  as  though  our 
part  of  the  country  was  to  be  the  seat  of  war. 

This  was  in  the  spring  of  1861.  My  old- 
est sister,  Floride,  was  to  be  married  early  in 
the  autumn,  and  mother  wanted  to  go  North 
to  see  her  father  and  get  my  sister's  trous- 
seau. It  was  a  hurried  and  hazardous  trip, 
and  she  returned  with  much  difficulty,  being 
almost  the  last  let  through  the  lines.  We 
were  indeed  glad  to  have  her  return  safely, 
bringing  the  precious  outfit.     I  feel  sure  no 

6 


one  else  could  have  accomplished  it,  but  she 
was  a  woman  of  indomitable  will  and  courage. 

My  sister's  marriage  took  place  soon  after, 
and  as  I  was  one  of  the  bridesmaids,  war 
and  all  its  consequences  were  naught  to  me 
for  a  while. 

My  next  recollection  was  that  Apalachi- 
cola  was  to  be  abandoned  as  an  army  post. 
The  blockade  had  shut  up  the  port.  All 
the  soldiers  were  sent  to  the  interior  except 
a  company  of  scouts,  which  was  stationed 
about  twenty  miles  away,  near  some  "  dismal 
swamps,"  and  used  to  keep  an  eye  on  the 
coast,  and  report  any  unusual  occurrence. 

Of  course,  business  was  at  a  standstill,  and 
many  moved  up  to  Columbus,  Georgia,  and 
other  towns  on  the  river.  My  brother-in-law 
decided  to  go  to  Columbus,  and  I  was  sent, 
too,  in  order  that  I  might  go  to  school. 

The  steamboat  was  crowded  and,  as  it 
was  at  the  time  of  a  great  flood,   there  was 


much  to  see  and  remember.  The  banks  of 
the  river  were  entirely  under  water,and  some- 
times the  river  was  a  large  and  continuous 
lake.  Only  those  who  have  traveled  on  one 
of  the  Southern  rivers  can  understand  the 
romance  and  beauty  of  it  all.  The  huge, 
moss-draped  trees,  the  landings  at  night, 
with  the  negro  crew  singing  their  weird 
songs  while  unloading  by  the  light  of  pine 
knots  burning  in  wire  cages.  The  trip  was 
none  too  long  for  my  excited  fancy.  My  life 
in  Columbus  has  always  been  a  happy  rec- 
ollection. I  loved  my  school  and  teacher, 
and  the  thrilling  and  dreadful  events  that 
took  place  touched  me  very  lightly. 

The  next  event  of  importance  was  that  a 
brother  two  years  older  than  I  had  been 
taken  from  the  schoolhouse  in  Apalachicola 
by  a  detachment  of  soldiers,  and  conscripted 
into  the  Southern  army.  He  was  not  allowed 
to  go  home  even  for  a  change  of  clothing. 

8 


He  was  below  the  age  limit,  which  limit  had 
been  lengthened  at  both  ends  since  the  be- 
ginning of  the  war. 

My  parents  were  greatly  distressed  and 
besought  the  colonel  to  release  him,  but 
without  avail,  and  he  was  hurried  off  to  the 
camp. 

Fortunately,  he  had  some  friends  in  the 
company  who  gave  him  food  and  cared  for 
him  as  well  as  they  could.  The  colonel  said 
he  had  "no  food  for  conscripts." 

Not  many  months  after  this  he  came  up 
to  Columbus  on  a  furlough,  his  health  hav- 
ing broken  down  under  poor  food  and  the 
malarial  air  from  the  swamps.  He  was 
much  changed  from  the  rugged,  healthy  boy 
I  had  left  behind  in  Apalachicola.  We  did 
all  we  could  to  repair  damages  in  the  short 
time  allowed  him,  and  were  very  sorry  to 
have  him  leave  us  and  go  back  to  the  pri- 
vations of  the  camp. 


The  war  progressed,  but  being  so  far  from 
the  scene  of  conflict,  I  was  affected  mainly 
by  the  troubles  of  my  friends  who  had  mem- 
bers of  their  families  in  the  active  army. 
Occasionally  a  father  or  son  would  be  home 
for  a  while,  and  often  the  news  of  friends 
being  killed  in  battle  would  shock  the  com- 
munity, so  there  was  little  rest  or  happiness. 
I  remember  a  feast  gotten  up  for  some 
Southern  soldiers  going  through  Columbus 
to  join  the  army,  and  enjoyed  waiting  on  the 
table.  Though  food  was  scarce  and  costly, 
every  one  gave  of  their  best,  and  there  was 
much  cheering  and  enthusiasm.  Quite  a 
contrast  to  this,  was  our  going  down  to  the 
station  to  see  a  load  of  prisoners  being  taken 
to  Andersonville.  I  saw  no  food  or  drink 
given  them.  They  were  huddled  as  close  to- 
gether as  was  possible,  and  all  I  could  do  was 
to  pity  their  forlorn  condition.  It  seemed 
only  one  of  the  natural  conditions  of  war. 


One  day,  coming  home  from  school,  I  was 
met  with  the  astounding  news  that  my  father 
had  gone  down  to  the  blockading  vessel  in 
the  harbor,  taking  my  brother  with  him,  and 
both  were  on  their  way  North  !  The  world 
seemed  upside  down  for  a  while,  and  I  was 
conscious  that  my  eyes  grew  big  with  won- 
der and  amazement.  At  last  more  tidings 
came,  and  we  realized  the  whole  situation. 

My  brother  had  had  a  very  severe  relapse 
of  the  fever,  and  his  life  had  been  in  much 
danger,  but  the  kindness  of  his  fellow  sol- 
diers and  his  strong  constitution  had  pulled 
him  through;  and  when  able  to  be  helped  to 
his  saddle,  he  was  told  he  could  have  a  few 
days'  furlough,  to  go  to  his  family  in  Apa- 
lachicola.  When  he  arrived  after  two  days' 
riding  and  resting,  he  looked  so  very  ill  that 
it  was  evident  he  could  not  go  back  to  camp, 
for  the  boy's  life  would  be  the  penalty. 
Father's  decision  was  quickly  made.    "  How 


long  can  you  stay  here?  "  he  asked.  "  Two 
nights."  "  We  will  see  about  that,"  was  the 
answer. 

Father  knew  that  it  would  never  do  to  let 
him  return,  and  the  only  alternative  was  to 
take  him  North  by  the  way  of  the  blockade. 
Everything  had  to  be  done  with  the  utmost 
secrecy,  for  the  lives  of  all  concerned  in  the 
transaction  were  at  stake.  If  any  small  de- 
tail miscarried,  the  consequences  were  fatal. 
The  most  difficult  item  was  getting  some 
one  to  row  them  down  the  bay.  Once  on 
board  the  blockade,  they  were  safe  unless 
the  ship  should  be  captured. 

Father  was  so  loved  and  respected  in  the 
town  that  he  was  able  to  overcome  even  this 
difficulty,  and  two  men  promised  to  be  ready 
at  the  wharf  at  a  certain  time.  These  men 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  going  down  for  oys- 
ters and  fish,  so  their  movements  were  not 
noticed.       They    had    been    suspected    of 


helping  others  off,  but  it  could  not  be 
proved. 

The  next  day  was  devoted  to  preparations. 
The  trunk  was  wrapped  in  many  folds  of 
bagging  and  taken  down  in  a  wheelbarrow 
after  dark.  Later  on  my  father  and  brother 
strolled  down  separately,  each  having  ner- 
vous shocks. 

Father  met  an  old  friend  just  as  he  arrived 
at  the  wharf.  As  father  had  been  ill  for 
some  time,  Mr.  Ormand  was  much  surprised 
at  seeing  him  out  at  that  time,  and  asked 
why  he  was  there.  Father  said,  "  Yes,  in- 
deed!  It  is  entirely  too  late.  I  must  go 
home  immediately."  And  walked  back  up 
the  street,  returning  later,  and  reaching  the 
boat  unobserved. 

Colby,  when  halfway  down,  heard  some 
one  running  behind  him.  He  was  too  feeble 
to  run,  so  turned,  to  face  his  younger  brother 
bringing  something  that  had  been  forgotten. 

13 


They  were  finally  off,  and  met  with  no 
other  adventure  during  the  five  miles'  ride. 

The  next  morning  mother  stood  at  the 
back  gate,  and  the  man  who  had  rowed  them 
down  the  bay  passed  by-  Neither  appeared 
to  greet  the  other,  but  he  whispered  "All  is 
well."  That  was  a  great  relief,  but  she  did 
not  hear  of  their  safe  arrival  at  the  North  for 
several  months.  The  captain  of  the  block- 
ader  treated  them  very  kindly,  and  sent  them 
to  Key  West  by  the  fortnightly  transport, 
and  from  there  they  went  North  to  our  sum- 
mer home  in  Rhode  Island. 

Mother  then  had  to  face  a  very  serious  sit- 
uation. Naturally,  the  people  were  much  in- 
censed over  my  brother's  desertion,  and  no 
one  could  tell  what  the  authorities  might  do. 
Left  with  four  small  children  and  another 
(myself)  in  Georgia,  with  very  little  money, 
and  food  scarce,  there  were  many  perplexi- 
ties to  meet,  both  immediate  and  in   the   fu- 

14 


ture.  She  knew  that  the  only  thing  for  her 
to  do  was  to  follow  father  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble. But  first,  she  must  get  me  down  from 
Columbus,  for  she  could  not  think  of  my  be- 
ing left  behind.  It  would  seem  a  simple 
thing  for  her  to  go  up  the  river  after  me,  but 
the  war  had  brought  about  many  unexpected 
conditions. 

Fearing  the  blockaders  would  go  up  the 
river  and  burn  the  towns  and  factories,  the 
Confederates  had  obstructed  the  passage 
with  trees,  rafts  and  other  materials,  which, 
in  time,  had  accumulated  still  further  debris 
of  all  sorts,  so  that  the  river  was  practically 
useless  above  this  obstruction,  which  ex- 
tended northward  for  miles.  The  problem 
was  how  to  get  around  this  obstruction.  Be- 
yond that,  she  could  get  a  steamer.  But  the 
hardest  trouble  of  all  was  leaving  her  little 
children  behind.  Dear  old  "  Aunt  Ann,"  a 
faithful    colored    nurse,    could    be   entirely 

is 


trusted  for  service  and  devotion,  and  a  rela- 
tive promised  to  protect  them.  Though 
mother  was  brave,  it  was  a  hard  trial  to  leave 
the  young  family  and  start  off  alone  on  the 
unknown  but  certainly  dangerous  journey. 

She  was  rowed  as  far  as  the  obstruction, 
around  which  she  was  carried  in  an  ox  cart, 
stopping  for  the  night's  rest  whenever  she 
could  find  a  decent  log  house.  She  must 
have  suffered  many  privations  and  much  fa- 
tigue. Rowing  against  the  current  was  slow 
and  tedious  work,  and  jolting  over  rough 
roads  through  the  deep  forests  must  have 
been  lonely  and  fatiguing.  Realizing  that 
I  could  never  endure  such  an  experience, 
and  hearing  that  the  river  had  made  a  way 
for  itself  around  the  obstruction,  though  a 
narrow,  swift  and  dangerous  one,  she  re- 
solved to  brave  it,  and  engaged  a  man  to 
build  a  strong  boat  for  the  return  trip,  and 
take  us  down  himself.     He  was  an   Italian 

16 


who  had  lived  in  Apalachicola,  and  was  a 
man  to  be  trusted. 

Beyond  the  obstruction  she  found  the  rest 
of  the  journey  easy,  and  she  could  rest  a  lit- 
tle before  meeting  us.  That  meeting  was 
joyful,  but  full  of  conflicting  emotions. 

She  was  so  worn  from  the  journey  that 
she  hesitated  about  taking  me  back  with  her, 
and  said  she  would  have  to  leave  me  behind 
after  all,  but  I  had  something  to  say  about 
that,  and  exclaimed  vehemently,  "  Mother,  if 
you  do  not  take  me  with  you,  you  will  never 
see  me  again !  "  So  after  resting  a.  couple  of 
weeks,  the  eventful  return  journey  was  be- 
gun. 

I  was  sad  at  leaving  my  sister  behind,  but 
her  husband  and  home  were  there,  and  as  a 
family  we  had  traveled  so  much,  both  on  this 
continent  and  Europe,  that  we  were  used  to 
partings,  and  I  set  out  on  this  unusual  jour- 
ney without  forebodings. 

17 


The  distance  from  Columbus  to  Apalachi- 
cola  was  about  three  hundred  miles.  We 
took  a  steamboat  to  Fort  Gaines,  where 
there  was  a  military  station,  and  where  we 
would  have  to  get  a  passport  which  we  must 
present  at  a  small  station  quite  a  distance  be- 
low the  obstruction.  This  was  to  stop,  if 
possible,  the  constant  escape  of  deserters. 

Immediately  on  our  arrival  at  Fort  Gaines 
mother  went  to  the  arsenal  for  the  passport. 
She  was  met  by  a  very  agreeable  young  adju- 
tant, who  said  he  had  not  the  power  to  give 
us  one,  but  he  was  expecting  the  major  back 
at  any  moment  and  he  would  give  it. 

The  next  day  she  went  out  again,  only  to 
have  the  same  experience.  The  third  day 
with  the  same  result.  On  the  fourth  day  I 
said,  "  Let  me  go ;  perhaps  he  will  give  it  to 
me."  Taking  an  attendant,  I  trudged  along 
the  two  miles  with  great  confidence,  and  was 
rewarded  by  being  able  to  bring  the  promise 

18 


of  the  precious  document.  My  youth  prob- 
ably appealed  to  the  young  man,  and  he 
could  not  help  feeling  that  I  ought  not  to 
be  detained.  We  did  not  know  it  then,  but 
found  out  afterwards  that  he  had  orders  to 
detain  us  till  the  major  came,  as  we  were  not 
to  be  allowed  to  go  on.  He  said  for  us  to 
make  our  arrangements  for  departure  the 
next  day,  and  he  would  bring  the  passport 
himself  to  the  steamboat  which  would  take 
us  down  to  the  obstruction.  I  was  trium- 
phant, but  mother  had  her  doubts  as  to  his 
keeping  his  word. 

The  next  morning  we  went  on  board,  hop- 
ing for  the  best.  The  bell  rang  for  starting, 
but  still  no  adjutant  appeared.  At  last,  just 
when  our  hearts  were  sinking  with  disap- 
pointment and  the  gang  plank  was  being 
drawn  in,  he  came  galloping  down  the  road 
with  the  passport  in  his  hand.  He  probably 
had  hoped  the  major  would  come  at  the  last 

19 


moment  and  relieve  him  of  the  responsibility. 
I  never  heard  if  he  suffered  from  his  disobe- 
dience of  orders,  but  have  always  been  grate- 
ful to  him  for  his  kindness.  I  still  have  the 
paper  and  treasure  it  very  highly. 

The  distance  to  the  obstruction  was  not 
great,  and  there  we  found  "  Bernardo  "  wait- 
ing for  us  with  the  new  strong  boat.  My 
trunk  and  a  few  packages  of  food  comprised 
the  cargo,  for  we  had  to  travel  as  light  as 
possible.  The  other  boatman,  whom  Ber- 
nardo had  engaged,  turned  out  to  be  a  refu- 
gee like  ourselves,  and  he  was  glad  to  give 
his  services  under  the  circumstances. 

The  river  had  utilized  one  of  those  bayous 
with  which  the  Southern  rivers  are  so  well 
provided,  as  a  means  of  escape  around  the 
obstruction.  It  had  been  widened  and  deep- 
ened by  the  force  of  the  strong  current,  but 
as  the  stream  carried  off  the  banks  the  trees 
would  fall  in,  making  it  much  more  danger- 


ous,  and  the  utmost  care  and  skill  were  nec- 
essary to  bring  us  through  in  safety.  Mother 
and  I  lay  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat  with 
strict  orders  not  to  move,  while  the  little 
boat  was  tossed  about  by  the  swift  current. 
If  we  had  hit  one  of  the  projecting  trees,  we 
would  have  sunk  immediately.  Mother 
thought  of  her  four  helpless  little  children 
left  in  Apalachicola,  and  must  have  made 
many  and  earnest  appeals  for  help  and  pro- 
tection. I  do  not  remember  how  long  this 
lasted,  but  our  progress  was  very  swift,  and 
finally  the  tension  was  relaxed  and  we  glided 
out  into  the  smooth  waters  of  the  river. 
How  lovely  it  looked  after  the  mad  turmoil 
and  anxiety  of  the  bayou. 

The  men  rested  a  while,  letting  the  boat 
float  down  the  peaceful  river,  and  we  all  gave 
thanks  for  our  deliverance  from  the  dangers 
we  had  encountered. 

About  eleven  o'clock  that  night  we  found 


a  good  landing,  where  we  went  ashore,  and 
lighting  a  fire  to  keep  the  wild  beasts  away, 
we  lay  down  on  the  ground  for  a  little  rest 
from  our  cramped  positions. 

Mother,  worn  out  by  the  anxieties  of  the 
day,  dozed  off,  but  I  was  too  excited  by  the 
novelty  and  beauty  of  the  scene.  The  moon 
was  full,  and  though  just  before  Christmas, 
the  weather  was  mild.  The  air  was  heavy 
with  the  scents  of  the  forest  behind  us,  from 
which  could  be  heard,  from  time  to  time,  the 
calls  of  owls,  panthers  and  wildcats.  We 
saw  none,  but  there  was  always  the  expecta- 
tion that  one  would  appear. 

We  roasted  peanuts  in  the  coals  and 
toasted  bacon  and  corn  pones.  These  were 
our  only  food  during  the  entire  journey. 
The  river  water,  muddy  though  it  was,  satis- 
fied our  thirst.  Supplies  of  all  kinds  had  long 
been  very  scarce,  and  we  had  learned  to  be 
very  thankful  for  little,  and  that  of  the  simplest. 


About  four  in  the  morning  we  resumed 
our  way  down  the  now  placidly  flowing 
stream.  The  banks  were  sometimes  high 
bluffs,  then  low  stretches  of  sand  or  clay,  but 
more  often  tangled  masses  of  trees  and  thick 
undergrowth  coming  right  down  to  the  water. 
No  one  could  possibly  penetrate  it,  and  we 
were  as  alone  as  though  we  were  the  only 
inhabitants  of  the  earth. 

The  exciting  event  of  the  morning  was 
passing  the  little  military  post  where  the 
passport  must  be  examined.  I  can  well  re- 
member the  rather  overdone  indifference  of 
my  mother  and  the  stoical  look  on  the  faces 
of  the  men.  The  passport  was  only  for  mother 
and  me.  It  said  nothing  about  the  men,  and 
at  first  it  seemed  as  though  there  would  be 
some  trouble,  but  it  was  so  obvious  that  we 
must  have  some  one  to  do  the  rowing  that  we 
were  given  permission  to  go  on.  But  it  was 
not  till  we  had  left  the  post  several  miles  be- 

23 


hind  that  we  were  really  at  ease.  The  rest 
of  the  trip  was  uneventful.  The  men  rowed 
and  rested.  We  always  made  progress,  as 
the  flow  of  the  river  was  several  miles  an 
hour. 

We  hoped  to  reach  home  before  dark  of 
the  second  day  in  the  little  boat,  but  the  men 
were  nearly  exhausted  and  could  not  row 
steadily.  Finally  we  came  out  into  the  big 
bay  in  front  of  the  city,  and,  oh,  how  little 
and  frail  our  boat  seemed,  especially  as  it 
had  begun  to  leak  and  mother  and  I  had  to 
take  turns  bailing. 

But  all  things  come  to  an  end  at  last,  and 
about  midnight  we  climbed  up  on  the  de- 
serted wharf  of  unfortunate  Apalachicola. 
Little  did  it  look  like  the  busy,  thriving 
place  of  two  years  before.  Instead  of  high 
piles  of  cotton  bales,  grass  was  growing  in 
the  streets.  Where  innumerable  negroes 
used  to  work  busily  there  was  silence  and 

24 


loneliness.  The  life  of  the  city  was  gone. 
Poor  Apalachicola !  Her  glories  had  de- 
parted. 

The  scene  made  a  vivid  impression  on  my 
youthful  imagination,  and  I  realized  in  a  de- 
gree how  sad  and  forlorn  it  was. 

We  were  glad  to  be  on  our  feet  after  the 
confinement  of  the  boat.  No  one  knew 
when  we  would  arrive;  all  were  asleep;  and 
the  walk  to  our  home  seemed  like  going 
through  a  dead  city.  It  reminded  me  of  the 
old  story  of  "  The  Sleeping  Beauty." 

However,  the  faithful  nurse  slept  with  one 
eye  open,  and  we  were  soon  surrounded  by 
the  little  family.  The  meeting  was  almost 
too  pathetic  for  joy,  and  tears  and  laughter 
were  about  evenly  distributed. 

It  was  certainly  an  unusual  scene.  Aunt 
Ann,  the  old  nurse,  as  well  as  the  children, 
had  rushed  out  in  their  nightclothes,  and 
we    embraced    each    other   in    the   garden 

25 


among  the  orange  trees,  regardless  of  the 
neighbors.  The  excitement  stimulated  us 
for  the  moment,  but  we  were  so  exhausted 
that  we  were  soon  put  to  bed. 

It  was  fortunate  that  we  arrived  as  we  did, 
for  the  food  question  had  grown  to  be  a  very 
serious  one  for  the  old  negro,  as  the  simple 
supply  was  nearly  exhausted. 

Agriculturally,  Apalachicola  was  unfortu- 
nately situated,  being  built  on  a  sand  bank. 
Almost  every  one  who  could  get  away  had 
gone,  and  there  were  few  negroes  to  culti- 
vate what  little  soil  there  was.  No  steamers 
could  come  down  the  river,  and  if  any  one 
went  down  the  bay  for  fish  and  oysters,  he 
was  suspected  of  sympathizing  with  the 
Northerners.  That  left  the  city  dependent 
on  an  occasional  barge  coming  down  the 
lower  part  of  the  river  with  corn  meal.  Of 
other  food  there  was  none  except  a  few 
sweet  potatoes.     There  were  no  cattle,  con- 

26 


sequently  no  meat ;  no  poultry,  as  there  was 
no  food  for  them.  Our  cow  had  died  from 
lack  of  food.  She  had  lived  quite  a  while 
on  cotton  seed,  but  gave  very  little  milk,  and 
at  last  was  buried  in  the  back  yard. 

Before  father  left  he  had  found  several 
casks  of  rice  in  one  of  his  empty  warehouses. 
It  was  taken  to  the  house,  and  he  thought 
it  would  last  a  long  time.  But  one  day 
mother  discovered  that  weevils  were  in  it 
and  put  it  out  in  the  yard  on  sheets.  The 
neighbors  saw  it  and  soon  a  crowd  collected 
and  demanded  the  rice.  Mother  knew  they 
would  take  it  by  force  if  she  refused,  so 
yielded,  giving  each  a  little  till  nearly  all  was 
gone.  After  the  supply  of  rice  was  exhausted 
there  was  little  good  food  to  be  had.  Corn 
meal,  with  an  occasional  treat  of  oysters,  was 
the  steady  bill  of  fare.  Once  the  supply  of 
meal  was  so  low  that  mother  went  to  a  friend 
saying,  "  I  hear  you  have  some  corn  meal ; 

27 


you  must  divide  with  me ;  I  have  almost 
nothing  for  my  children."  Once  there  was 
a  report  that  a  barge  was  in  sight,  and  all 
flocked  to  the  wharf,  only  to  see  the  barge 
upset  and  the  whole  cargo  dumped  into  the 
water.     One  can  imagine  the  scene! 

I  had  fared  rather  better  in  the  interior, 
and  found  the  food  very  unpalatable,  but 
hunger  is  the  best  of  sauces,  and  I  soon 
found  an  appetite  for  the  simple  fare. 

As  soon  as  mother  had  rested  she  began 
to  plan  for  our  going  North.  She  knew  we 
would  have  to  wait  till  spring,  as  none  of  us 
was  prepared  to  face  the  rigors  of  a  North- 
ern winter.  She  sent  a  note  to  the  captain 
of  the  "  Somerset,"  which  he  acknowledged 
by  calling  one  day  when  he  came  up  to  burn 
a  few  houses.  He  said  that  when  she  was 
ready  he  would  come  up  for  us,  and  take  care 
of  us  till  the  transport  came  from  Key  West, 
so  her  anxieties  on  that  score  were  at  rest. 

28 


One  day  we  heard  that  the  town  was  ex- 
cited about  two  men  who  had  been  missing 
for  some  time,  and  that  a  search  party  had 
started  out  in  quest  of  them.  Mother  was 
much  worried,  as  they  were  the  men  who 
had  taken  father  and  Colby  down  the  bay. 
Later  one  of  the  scouts  who  came  regularly 
to  town  said  if  the  men  were  wanted  they 
could  be  found  at  a  certain  place.  Both  had 
been  dead  some  time.  They  had  been  tied 
to  trees  and  shot  at  by  the  whole  company. 
They  had  been  suspected  of  helping  others 
besides  father,  and  of  certain  other  acts  that 
brought  them  under  suspicion  of  disaffec- 
tion. All  this  was  a  great  shock  to  us.  I 
remember  the  day  that  the  wife  of  one  of 
them  came  to  mother  and  asked  her  if  she 
had  ever  told  who  took  father  off.  Mother's 
feelings  can  well  be  imagined,  but  she  could 
answer  with  a  clear  conscience  that  she 
never  had. 

29 


Towards  March  the  captain  sent  a  letter 
saying  he  had  received  orders  not  to  take 
any  more  refugees,  as  there  had  been  so 
many,  and  they  always  came  so  poor,  and 
many  of  them  were  ill  from  exposure.  The 
government  was  tired  of  supporting  them, 
consequently  he  would  be  unable  to  give  us 
the  required  assistance. 

This  sounded  very  discouraging,  but 
mother's  determination  was  not  at  all  shaken. 
She  knew  we  could  not  stay  in  Apalachicola 
and  starve.  There  were  some  islands  in  the 
bay  on  which  were  a  few  old  houses,  and  she 
felt  sure  she  could  find  shelter  there  till  the 
fortnightly  transport  came,  so  she  began  her 
preparations.  She  packed  the  articles  she 
felt  she  must  save  if  possible,  and  everything 
was  arranged  for  leaving  at  a  moment's  no- 
tice. 

Not  long  after,  word  was  brought  that  the 
launches  were  coming  up  the  bay.     Mother 

30 


immediately  started  for  the  wharf  and  met 
the  captain,  saying,  "  I  am  now  ready  to  go 
back  with  you."  He  laughed  and  said, 
"  Well,  make  your  packages  small."  The  re- 
sult was  that  she,  with  her  five  children,  and 
fifteen  pieces  of  luggage,  were  put  safely  on 
board  the  launches,  and  we  bid  farewell  to 
our  Southern  home. 

The  people  turned  out  to  see  us  off,  and 
the  presence  of  the  various  officers,  to  say 
nothing  of  several  small  cannon,  sufficed  to 
insure  us  a  respectful  treatment. 

On  the  way  mother  explained  her  plan  to 
the  captain,  but  he  scorned  it,  saying,  "  I 
will  take  you  over  the  island  after  lunch,  and 
you  can  see  for  yourself,  but  I  could  not 
think  of  letting  you  stay  there.  I  shall  be 
very  happy  to  have  you  as  my  guests."  It 
was  a  new  and  wonderful  experience  for  us 
youngsters  and  we  thoroughly  enjoyed  it. 

I  must  say  here  that  the  "Somerset"  was 

31 


a  reconstructed  ferryboat  that  previously  had 
plied  between  New  York  and  Brooklyn. 
This  ferryboat,  returned  to  her  original  con- 
dition, is  still  carrying  passengers  to  and  fro 
between  the  same  cities,  at  Fulton  Ferry, 
and  whenever  I  chance  to  cross  on  her  I  am 
overwhelmed  with  recollections,  most  of 
them  very  pleasant. 

Lunch  was  served  as  soon  as  we  arrived, 
and  words  cannot  express  our  joy  at  seeing 
whitebread  and  butter,  apples  and  cake,  be- 
side other  luxuries,  spread  out  before  us.  It 
seemed  almost  like  sacrilege  to  eat  such 
precious  delicacies.  The  captain  enjoyed 
our  delight,  and  mother  shed  tears  at  seeing 
her  children  eat  ail  they  wanted.  It  is  al- 
most impossible  to  describe  how  happy  we 
were  the  next  two  weeks.  The  ship  and 
every  one  on  board  were  at  our  disposal. 

The  ship's  tailor  made  beautiful  suits  for 
the  three  boys,  and  lamented  that  he  could 

32 


not  do  the  same  for  the  rest  of  us.  We  were 
a  shabby  looking  lot,  as  to  clothing,  for  noth- 
ing had  been  bought  for  two  years,  and  grow- 
ing children  are  not  very  careful.  Some 
brown  linen  curtains  had  been  found  in  one 
of  father's  stores  and  made  into  shirts  for 
the  boys  and  dresses  for  the  girls.  Shoes 
had  been  made  out  of  stiff  pieces  of  cloth, 
etc.  It  is  useless  to  enter  into  these  little 
details,  for  there  would  be  no  end  to  my 
story,  and  they  are  not  essential. 

The  captain  sent  the  boys  to  the  mess- 
room,  and  the  rest  of  us  lived  in  his  dining 
room.  We  were  sent  ashore  each  day  for 
exercise  and  play,  were  allowed  to  bring 
shells  and  other  treasures  on  board,  and  were 
petted  and  feasted  and  very,  very  happy.  In 
fact,  nothing  was  too  good  for  us.  The  truth 
was  that  these  men  had  been  shut  off  from 
family  life  so  long,  many  of  them  having 
children  at  home,  that  they  were  as  happy  as 

33 


we,  and  it  was  a  pleasant  break  in  their  mo- 
notonous routine. 

One  day  the  captain  said  to  mother,  "  I 
know  that  whatever  Confederate  money  you 
have  is  worthless,  and  you  cannot  possibly 
have  any  'greenbacks,'  so  you  must  be  with- 
out funds,  and  how  will  you  get  this  family 
to  Rhode  Island?"  She  replied  with  much 
spirit,  "  It  is  my  own  affair  how  much  or  how 
little  I  have.  I  expect  my  husband  has  sent 
some  money  to  Key  West  for  my  use." 
"  Very  well,"  said  he,  "  I  have  ten  thousand 
dollars  here  —  prize  money  —  that  I  want 
deposited  in  New  York,  and  it  would  be  a 
favor  to  me  if  you  would  carry  it  with  you, 
using  as  much  as  you  need,  and  your  hus- 
band can  replace  it  at  his  convenience." 

"  Oh,"  said  mother,  "  I  have  all  the  respon- 
sibility I  can  bear  now.  I  could  not  possibly 
take  your  money."  "  Have  you  one  hundred 
dollars?"  asked  the  captain.    "No."  "Have 

34 


you  fifty  ?  "  Such  persistence  brought  the 
climax.  "  I'll  tell  you  just  how  much  I  have. 
Twelve  gold  dollars  that  belong  to  Cora." 
"  I  thought  as  much,"  said  he.  "  Now,  I  in- 
sist upon  your  taking  five  hundred  dollars, 
for  you  will  need  a  good  deal  as  soon  as  you 
leave  us."  Such  kindness  could  not  be  re- 
sisted and  was  accepted  with  much  grati- 
tude. 

The  days  flew  by  very  swiftly.  Once  a 
vessel  was  seen  trying  to  run  the  blockade, 
and  though  we  went  after  her  with  all  haste, 
she  made  her  escape.  Another  day  we  went 
ashore  to  see  the  men  casting  a  seine.  Quite 
large  fish  were  caught  and  made  good  sport 
for  the  fishermen.  Every  time  we  went  ashore, 
we  were  carried  on  the  backs  of  the  sailors, 
as  the  water  was  too  shallow  to  permit  even 
the  small  boats  to  land. 

We  enjoyed  it  all  so  much  that  if  we  had 
not  had  home  in  view  we  should  have  been 

35 


very  sorry  when  we  saw  the  "  Honduras  "  ar- 
rive, and  knew  that  the  time  had  come  for 
us  to  leave  our  kind  friends.  The  "  Somer- 
set" family  was  sincerely  sorry  to  lose  us,  for 
our  stay  had  been  mutually  pleasant. 

However,  the  "  Honduras  "  proved  to  be 
as  happy  a  home  as  the  "Somerset,"  and  our 
life  on  board  for  four  days  has  always  been 
a  pleasant  recollection.  We  stopped  at 
Tampa  and  Cedar  Keys,  both  very  beautiful 
harbors,  and  distributed  rations,  mail,  ammu- 
nition and  other  necessities  at  the  blockad- 
ing points.    It  was  very  interesting  to  watch. 

When  we  arrived  in  Key  West  another 
problem  presented  itself.  The  town  was  full 
of  refugees.  The  one  hotel  was  crowded  to 
its  fullest  capacity,  and  no  boat  from  New 
Orleans  in  sight.  It  was  after  Butler  had 
taken  New  Orleans,  and  a  regular  line  of 
steamers  plied  between  that  city  and  New 
York.     Yellow  fever  had  broken  out  in  Key 

36 


West,  and  the  expected  steamer  might  not 
even  come  to  the  wharf. 

Several  of  the  officers  of  the  "  Honduras  " 
said  they  knew  of  a  place  which  was  respec- 
table, but  they  could  not  say  more  for  it,  but 
if  mother  would  go  there  they  too  would  live 
there  till  they  had  to  leave  for  a  return  trip. 
Their  presence  added  greatly  to  our  comfort 
and  safety. 

While  in  Key  West  we  were  made  happy 
by  a  visit  from  our  old  slave  and  cook,  Aunt 
Sally.  She  was  a  Virginia  darky  and  a  first- 
class  servant.  Before  mother  had  gone  to 
Columbus  for  me  the  negroes  had  begun  to 
leave  for  Key  West  in  large  groups.  Aunt 
Sally  came  to  mother  and  said  she  wanted 
to  go,  and  mother  made  no  opposition.  In 
fact,  she  was  glad  to  have  her  go,  as  it  made 
one  less  to  feed.  She  knew  Aunt  Sally 
would  always  be  able  to  take  care  of  herself, 
as  she  was  an  accomplished  laundress.     I  re- 

37 


member  well  when  she  first  came  to  us.  She 
was  to  be  sold,  and  being  such  a  fine  woman, 
was  allowed  time  to  find  her  own  master. 
Failing  that  she  would  be  sold  to  the  highest 
bidder  in  the  open  market.  She  went  down 
on  her  knees  before  my  father,  imploring  him 
to  buy  her  as  an  act  of  charity.  She  was 
overcome  with  joy  when  he  consented,  for 
she  knew  she  would  be  kindly  treated.  I 
used  to  stand  beside  her  in  the  evening 
when  she  was  making  bread.  She  would 
entertain  me  by  telling  interesting  stories 
and  singing  the  old  plantation  songs,  only 
one  of  which  I  remember,  and  only  three 
verses  of  that.  The  music  is  a  quaint  minor, 
and  I  always  loved  it: 


3» 


J  IJ]J]JJIf= 


'•  If  it  hadn't  been  for  Adam  and  Eve, 
There  never  would  have  been  no  sin; 
But  Adam  and  Eve  am  dead  and  gone 
And  we  have  de  debt  for  to  pay. 

Shout,  Chilluns  !  to  ease  my  troubled  mind. 

"  De  corn  in  de  field  is  a-ripening, 
And  de  laborers  dey  are  but  a  few  ; 
How  can  you  stand  so  idle  there 
When  there's  so  much  work  for  to  do  ? 

Shout,  Chilluns  !  to  ease  my  troubled  mind. 

"  Way  down  into  de  Valley, 
Way  down  into  de  Valley, 
I  see  my  Lord  a-coming  for 
To  ease  my  troubled  mind. 

Shout,  Chilluns  !  to  ease  my  troubled  mind." 

I  have  often  tried  to  find  this  song  among 
collections  of  negro  melodies,  but  have  never 
been  successful. 

39 


Aunt  Sally  heard  we  were  in  Key  West, 
and  immediately  came  to  see  us,  and  took 
us  children  in  her  motherly  arms. 

After  ten  days  there  was  a  rumor  that  the 
steamer  from  New  Orleans  was  in  sight,  and 
mother  flew  to  the  dock  full  of  resolution 
and  hope.  When  the  captain  saw  her  he 
said  very  decidedly,  "  Madam,  I  have  no 
room.  Everything  is  as  full  as  possible." 
"  But  my  daughter  and  I  can  sleep  on  the 
cabin  floor."  "Oh,"  said  he,  "if  you  have  a 
daughter,  then  it  is  absolutely  impossible." 
"  Captain,"  she  replied,  "  I  have  five  children, 
and  we  are  all  going  with  you."  The 
thought  that  that  was  the  last  steamer  for 
the  summer  and  yellow  fever  surely  carrying 
us  off  if  we  stayed,  gave  force  to  her  man- 
ner. 

The  captain  wilted,  and  said  meekly,  "  I 
have  one  stateroom,  dark  as  night  all  the 
time,    and  flooded  each  morning  when  the 

40 


decks  are  washed."  "  I  will  take  it,  whatever 
it  is.  When  do  you  leave  ?  "  "  Get  your 
children  immediately,  for  we  leave  as  soon 
as  possible,  any  moment." 

How  her  heart  must  have  jumped  for  joy 
when  we  sailed  away  from  the  fever-stricken 
city  into  the  pure  air  of  the  Gulf  and  knew 
we  were  headed  toward  home. 

The  fever  raged  in  full  force  that  summer 
and  many,  especially  negroes,  died.  As  we 
never  heard  from  Aunt  Sally,  we  felt  sure 
she  was  one  of  the  victims. 

This  part  of  our  journey  was  very  differ- 
ent from  our  previous  experiences.  We 
were  no  longer  honored  and  feasted.  We 
were  only  one  group  among  many  forlorn 
refugees.  We  were  shabby  and  neglected. 
Part  of  the  time  we  were  seasick,  and  always 
uncomfortable  in  our  cramped  quarters. 
The  boys  looked  neat  in  their  sailor  suits, 
but  the  rest  of  us  were,  to  say  the  least,  not 

41 


dressed  in  the  latest  fashion.  The  first  day 
my  brother  Tom  was  wandering  alone  about 
the  saloon,  when  an  officer  ordered  him  to 
go  forward,  saying,  "  No  sailors  were  allowed 
aft."  It  took  a  good  deal  of  explanation  be- 
fore he  was  satisfied  that  the  boy  was  a  pas- 
senger, for  the  suit  was  so  exactly  right  that 
he  could  hardly  be  convinced  that  it  be- 
longed to  a  landsman.  That  was  before  it 
was  the  fashion  for  boys  to  wear  sailor  suits. 
The  rest  of  my  story  is  not  very  thrilling. 
We  arrived  at  our  home  in  Rhode  Island 
after  an  uneventful  trip  to  New  York,  and 
were  welcomed  by  my  father  and  brother, 
who  had  passed  a  long  and  lonely  winter. 
The  old  farm  seemed  a  haven  of  rest  and 
plenty  after  our  hard  experience  in  Apalachi- 
cola. 

Several  of  our  kind  naval  friends  have  vis- 
ited us  since  then,  and   we  were  very  happy 


42 


at  being  able  to  offer  hospitality  to  those 
who  had  befriended  us  in  time  of  peril  and 
need. 


43 


s*ifr1?9£t'3000 1  * 


11  H  13dVH3  IV  0  N  JO  AltSy3AINi 


■W 


